On Thursday morning, the
news reported that Northern factory workers were planning a protest
march to the South in an attempt to make the country recognise their
ordeal. It reported that fishermen were applying to the government
for compensation for money lost due to the lack of fish. It also
reported that the French Prime Minister was apparently very
upset by certain accusations coming from
Britain, and in the interests of their continued good relationship,
would like those remarks to be withdrawn at once.

So far, no-one had
withdrawn anything.

Then there was a report
from outside Downing Street questioning just how long the current
crisis could continue, and whether the Prime Minister needed to worry
about being ousted by his own party. Votes of no confidence were
mentioned, and anonymous Labour MPs were quoted as being "extremely
concerned about whether their current leader can tackle the North".

Aziraphale, watching on
the small colour television provided by the bed and breakfast, was
also concerned.

"If they carry on
like this, it won't just be a Civil War they start," he said
worriedly.

"Nnngh," Crowley
replied unhelpfully, and pulled a pillow over his head.

Aziraphale turned to look
at him, and tsked. "Really, my dear, I did think you might be up
by now. We have got a war to prevent after all."

"It's not yet nine o
clock." Crowley complained from under the pillow. "And I
haven't slept all night. You snore."

"Dear, it isn't
possible for me to snore. For either of
us to snore. We don't breathe, remember?" Aziraphale reasoned
placidly.

"I hardly think I
would be focusing on such a thing when I have a potential war to
focus on," Aziraphale said primly. "And neither should you
be. There are more important things than sleep to think about."

Crowley's face appeared
from under the pillow, bad-tempered and flushed with sleep. "You
know it would be a lot less trouble to just let them get on with it,"
he complained. "Quick war, let them get the whole Empire thing
out of their system again, and they'll wear themselves out enough to
behave themselves for the next fifty years or so. They're going to
end up having a war at some point anyway, so it might as well be
now."

Aziraphale sighed. "And
do you really fancy going back to London if they lose?"

"Don't be bloody
stupid. They're the British Empire. They always win. More or less,"
Crowley retorted. "If only because they're too small and
inconveniently placed for anyone to bother putting up the effort for
a proper invasion." He sat up in bed, glancing over towards the
television. "You watch. Someone will mention Blitz spirit in a
moment."

On cue, the report
switched to an interview with a fish and chip shop owner. "Well,
it's hard of course, coping without any fish," he told the
camera solemnly. "But the community's rallied around, and we've
been doing the best we can, frying what we can get hold of. We've
been trying chicken, as some people thought it tasted like some sorts
of fish, and the pet shop donated some goldfish to keep us going.
It's been good, like, everyone pulling together - having a bit of
Blitz spirit around the place."

"See?" Crowley
was triumphant. "Wonderfully predictable they are. The slightest
bit of adversity, and it's Blitz spirit all the way."

That was enough to make
Crowley grimace. He hadn't thought of that and the memories were
something completely different from what people invoked when they
bandied around the term. "I remember that. Everyone being
dragged out of bed in the freezing cold in the middle of the night to
go stand in an air raid shelter."

Noticing his dislike of
the memory, Aziraphale took the advantage. "Right. So, if you
want any uninterrupted sleep over the next five years or so, perhaps
it would be a good idea to get up?" he suggested patiently.
"Come on now. I'll make us both a nice cup of tea to wake up
with while you get up, there's a good chap."

It was one of the little
amenities the bed and breakfast supplied to make things seem more
homely - a tray with a kettle, and a small collection of teabags,
disposable coffee sachets, sugar sachets and little cartons of UHT
milk. Aziraphale highly approved, even if they did seem to have
forgotten the teapot, milk-jug and sugar bowl that were needed for a
proper civilized cup
of tea. Still, one did what one could with what one had.

The kettle was already
boiling before he realised something was missing. Several somethings
in fact. "Crowley?"

"Mm?" Having
been forced out of bed, Crowley had created his clothes for the day
and was now taking ownership of the remote control, flicking through
the television channels quickly.

"Where are the tea
and coffee things?"

"Oh, uh..."
Crowley looked a little sheepish. "In the drawer next to the
beds."

Aziraphale opened it, and
stared, slightly bemused, at the collection of sachets heaped in
there. "Is there a reason we're hiding these?"

"They replace them
every day if they think you've used them." Seeing Aziraphale's
expression, Crowley became a little defensive. "Look, it's theft
and lying. Those are perfectly demonic things to do."

Aziraphale looked at the
sachets for a moment, then silently took out two teabags and a milk
carton, and closed the door. He thought it best not to mention that
since the Apocalypse these little acts of "being demonic"
seemed to grow smaller and more symbolic every day, just in case
Crowley got in the mood to prove him wrong. From instigator of
Original Sin to pilferer of refreshments, Crowley's demonic
attitude had taken a knock here or there through the millennia.

Frenzied channel-flicking
had resulted in Crowley managing to find an episode of Jerry
Springer. Satisfied, and ignoring the way Aziraphale winced at the
sound of the two women on-screen screaming at each other, he set the
remote back down and turned to look at the angel. "So," he
asked, "what exactly did you have in mind?"

Aziraphale smiled, and sat
back down on the bed, handing over a freshly brewed mug of tea.
"Well," he said. "I thought it might be a good idea to
head down to the beach..."

***

"All I'm saying is, I
don't see why she gets to be the one in control," Pollution
complained. "If anyone is going to lead us, it should be HIM."

"Yes, well, HE
doesn't lead," Famine said firmly. "HE barely works with us
at all really. HE just happens to be there when we have to work, most
of the time. But I'm not sure how much that counts as technically
he is everywhere."

"I've often wondered
how that works," Pollution replied. "But I suppose it's a case
of being more of everywhere here,
and less everywhere there.
I suppose it's that wave and particle thing again."

Famine
looked at him. "Seriously, if you talk about that blasted cat
again, I'll…well, everything was a lot simpler before it became
all quantum."

The pair of them wandered
down the shoreline together, a trail of litter following in their
wake.

"Why are we even here
really? I mean I know the sea warming up has
nothing to do with me, regardless of what the humans are thinking.
And pardon me for saying so, but I don't see anyone starving to death
for lack of fish, for all they're complaining a lot about it. They're
versatile things, humans. If you tell them they can't have fish and
chips, they go get a pizza instead. Or a vindaloo. Or a Chinese.
Nothing particularly British but that's the way it goes."

"Things will get
better once the war starts," Famine reassured. "One of the
plus-points about this place being an island. Once they annoy any
neighbours they've got trading food with them, it soon starts running
out. And you know some of the damage those weapons they have now can
do. I'm sure you'll find plenty to keep you busy."

It wasn't enough to
satisfy Pollution. "But why are we here, now?"
he persisted. "I don't call you guys if I spill enough oil to
kill off an entire population's food supply and cause a diplomatic
incident. You don't call her if
you think some nation's got hungry and desperate enough to attack the
one next door. You just... know to turn up when you're needed. Why is
she calling us before we're
needed?"

Famine considered it
carefully for a few minutes. "I don't know," he admitted.
"Maybe she just wanted an audience?"

"An audience?"
Pollution stared a little.

"Well, you know.
Hardly good for the ego, being defeated by a little girl, is it? They
do call it the theatre of war after all and maybe there is a little
truth to that human metaphor. Maybe she just wants someone to pat her
on the back a bit and say 'Jolly good war, well done you" - that
kind of thing."

Pollution sighed. "If
we said that now, do you think she would stop?"

The other personification
eyed him curiously. "Would you want her to?"

"Not exactly but... I
mean, well, maybe," Pollution admitted reluctantly. "Look,
I've got my own projects out there which I was spending time on.
There's some I was doing fantastically on - I had red kites nearly to
extinction! But you know what humans are. You take your eyes off them
for five minutes to work on something else, and they slap a
protection order on the blasted things and work out how to get them
to breed. I don't have time to
waste on being here just because she wants attention!"

"I too have things
which might be considered a better use of my time, there's been a
few natural disasters that are very promising," Famine agreed.
He looked straight at Pollution, meeting the pale eyes. "Will
you tell her?"

Pollution sagged. "I
was hoping you would," he said pleadingly. "You're more
senior than me after all. "

"Ah, no." Famine
shook his head. "Sorry my friend, but that's not how it works.
You're old enough to do these things yourself."

The thought made Pollution
wince. "She wouldn't take it well, would she? She'd argue."

"Fighting is
something she's had rather a lot of practice at," Famine agreed.
"Confrontation is practically her middle name even if it has too
many syllables."

There was a pause as the
two personifications contemplated the scene that would undoubtedly
result from standing up to War.

"Maybe,"
Pollution said slowly, "I could let my personal projects wait
just a little longer."
He glanced sideways at Famine. "See if she gets it out of her
system, you know."

"It'd take a few more
months before even the Red Cross could make changes that would cause
real issues with any
of my work," Famine nodded. "People will starve to death a
little more slowly but... I can afford a little more time."

"We wait then?"

Famine looked out over the
ocean. The sun glinted on waves that were now empty of any life. A
little further out, fishing boats lowered their nets with desperate
optimism, hoping to come up with something, however paltry.

"Yes," he
agreed. "We wait."

***

Elsewhere, further along
the coastline, Crowley was staring into the same ocean. It looked, he
thought, cold and grey and wet. And, this being where it was,
probably radioactive as well.

"So," he said
heavily, "you want us to turn into fish."

"It seems the best
idea, don't you think?" Aziraphale agreed cheerfully. "To
get a proper view of what's really going on down there."

Crowley stared into the
water and tried hard to think of something better. "You know,
just because there aren't any fish in
there doesn't mean there isn't anything else in there," he
warned. "It's going to cause real questions if we both need new
bodies because we get eaten by a seal or a dolphin or something."

"We'll be careful,"
Aziraphale reassured. "And I don't think you get dolphins in
this area. If we go deep enough, seals shouldn't be an issue."

"You couldn't just
ask Upstairs what the problem is?" Crowley asked wistfully.
"That whole omniscient thing has to be good for something."

Aziraphale's smile
vanished so quickly that he wished he had kept quiet for once. "No,"
he said quietly. "They're not - I think they're still sulking
after... well, you know."

Crowley nodded. He did
know. Adam might have done something to
prevent either of them actually being dragged home and dealt with for
their actions, but that didn't mean they were back on friendly terms
with their employers. Hell, thusfar, was keeping up a kind of surly
silence. Considering what Hell was capable of, Crowley far preferred
it to any alternative.

"Looks like we're on
our own on this one then," he said, surrendering if only to get
the smile back on Aziraphale's face. It was one thing to tease the
angel, but quite another to have him looking miserable
like that. "Fish it is."

Aziraphale beamed so
easily in response that Crowley half-wondered if he had been faking
the unhappy look. "I thought angel-fish might be appropriate."

There was such a thing as
going too far. Crowley glared. "I do hope
you're joking."

"Well, devil-fish in
your case then," Aziraphale allowed.

Crowley looked thoughtful.
Faint memories of programmes seen long ago on the Discovery Channel
stirred. "Yeah, yeah... I think I can go with that."

Aziraphale relaxed. It was
good to have some things that didn't have to be an argument. "There
we go then. Devil fish it is."

"I mean, there's
certainly not going to be any problems with seals or dolphins with
one of those."

"I shouldn't expect
there will be, no." Aziraphale agreed. He waded into the water a
few steps, letting the waves wash around his ankles.

"Need to go further
out though. Can't go changing into one of those here
or I'd get beached, I expect."

"I don't think they
really have that much
of a problem with it," Aziraphale said doubtfully. "Still,
I suppose you can go a bit further out if you're worried."

Crowley stared out to sea,
trying to judge depth. "I thought out just past those fishing
boats should do it."

"What?"
Aziraphale glanced back over his shoulder, realising that their
mental images didn't seem to be meeting up. "Crowley, what
exactly do you think it is that you're turning into here?"

"Devil fish. Saw them
on television." Crowley waved his arms, as though trying to
indicate something of great size. "Great big whale things they
are. Vicious bastards, too."

"Ah." Now the
problem became clear. "I think you might have misunderstood me.
There is in fact more than one type of devil fish."

This wasn't news that
seemed to dissuade Crowley at all. "So I'll go for the whale
kind," he said decisively. "Bound to get things done
faster, being a massive great whale."

"Crowley,"
Aziraphale said gently. "Quite apart from the fact that I think
the humans might notice if
a grey whale suddenly popped up in the middle of the North Sea
without warning, the type of whale you're thinking of is only called
a devil fish when it is a female with young to protect. Somehow I
believe you are lacking in certain qualities of motherhood. Being
female for one, having offspring and any form of maternal instinct
another."

Crowley's face fell. "Oh."

Aziraphale studied him.
"Did you ever actually read that
Encyclopedia of Animals I got you for Christmas a few years ago? I'm
sure it detailed information like this."

The demon's expression
took on the studied look of guilt of someone who had torn the paper
off and then never looked at it again. "I... yes," he said
defensively.

Aziraphale tsked
disbelievingly. Angels were good at
reading guilty expressions. "You were meant
to use it to look for information that might
help us with Dog," he scolded. "I suppose you don't even
know where it is. I don't know why I bother, I really don't."

"Of course I know
where it is," Crowley protested, carefully neglecting to mention
that that location currently was propping open a door in his flat.
"It's come in very useful. I just don't remember that part."
Realising that he had perhaps better move the conversation on quickly
before Aziraphale asked any more questions - mistreatment of books
was one of the few things that seemed to make angelic patience vanish
away to nothing - he said hastily, "so, what are
these devil fish then?"

"They're a type of
stingfish. It's a little hard to describe. Here..." Aziraphale
frowned at him for a moment, and then snapped his fingers. Crowley
found himself abruptly floundering about in the shallow water.

"Hey! Angel!"

"Just thought I would
help," Aziraphale said pleasantly, and joined him a moment later
as a small yellow angel fish.

"I didn't ask
you to help." Crowley swam in circles,
trying to get a good look at his new body. It appeared to be spiky,
weirdly ugly, and covered in stripes. "I look like something a
whelk spit up," he said disbelievingly. " Or like someone
with a terminal cold sneezed out the contents of their sinuses. I
don't think there even are fish
that look like this."

"You'd be amazed by
the variety of God's creatures on this earth, dear," Aziraphale
said, with perhaps just a touch of smugness. "And I did
suggest angel fish first, if you'll recall."

"Are these stripes
the closest you could get to tartan for a fish?" Crowley flapped
a fin accusingly.

They swam in silence for a
while - or at least Aziraphale did. Crowley discovered that his front
fins were apparently designed to scuttle rather than swim, and
managed to get up quite a good speed over the sand.

"Managed to get the
humans to write a song about something like this once," he mused
after a while.

Aziraphale winced. "Don't
remind me. I had to unplug the radio after the first two weeks of
it."

Crowley wriggled his
spines in happy memory. "You weren't the only one. You'd be
amazed how many humans tarnished their souls by wishing bad things on
the singers, or shouting at their kids to turn it off after the
hundredth play. Wonderful example of a bad job well done and spread
all over the world."

"Life was much easier
when you were tempting humans into adultery, rather than into making
annoying songs," Aziraphale said glumly.

"Far less effective
though." Crowley glanced sideways at him (something that fish
eyes were well designed for) and started humming quietly under his
breath. Two miles swum to "Help! I'm a
fish!" seemed quite adequate revenge for
being stuck in a stripy fish body.

***

"Are we nearly there
yet?"

The catfish sighed. "I
did warn you that you'd wished us rather a long way away."

"I'm hungry."

"So I gathered the
first five times you complained of it." He eyed the dogfish
hopefully. "Don't fancy dying of starvation any time soon, do
you? It could make this all a lot quicker."

"No." The
dogfish gave an annoyed flick of his tail. "Though I'm sure
you've got enough fins that you could spare just one to help a fellow
out for a snack."

"Thank you, but I'm
not so keen on the idea of swimming in circles for the rest of my
life."

"Well, perhaps if
you'd bothered to wish one of us a sense of direction, rather than
wasting wishes..."
the catfish began angrily, then broke off. "Wait. I heard
something."

For once the dogfish
didn't argue, but froze in place, senses straining to catch any
vibrations through the water. It was always wise to be careful around
strange noises in the ocean, in case they were made by something that
wanted to eat you.

This didn't sound like
anything predatory though.

"I don't understand
it. Even if the warm water had managed to kill off all the sealife, I
would expect more bodies. It shouldn't just be empty,"
a voice complained, sounding frustrated.

"Maybe it was the
French after all."

"They said they
hadn't!"

"Yes, well, they're
human. They would say that. You can't trust the buggers further than
you can throw them. You should know that
by now, angel."

"They shouldn't be
able to empty the entire sea though. That's just odd whichever way
you look at it."

The catfish and dogfish
glanced at each other, and then stared with some fascination as a
small yellow angel fish followed by a spiky waddling... thing came up
over the sand dune sea bottom.

The angel fish and spiky
thing stopped and stared back.

"Catfish," the
angel fish said slowly as it vaned its wings and came to a
standstill. "How very interesting. I could have sworn they were
only freshwa-"

He didn't get to finish
the sentence. It had been a long time since the dogfish's last meal,
and now he had finally found food he wasn't going to have a
conversation with it, or wonder where it had come from. He was going
to eat it - and that
was precisely what he did, swallowing Aziraphale down in one gulp.

There was a moment of
shocked silence before the shouting started.

"For crying out loud,
can't you see anything that
might be useful to us without eating it?"
the catfish snapped. "The first other fish we've seen in days,
and you swallow it whole!"

"Never mind useful,
that was my angel!"
Crowley found, much to his surprise, that this fish-body seemed to
want to bristle its spines when he was angry. He advanced on the
startled dogfish threateningly. "I suggest you spit him out."

"I can't
spit him out, I've swallowed him!" The
dogfish backed off hastily, eying the spines with some concern.
"Look, I'm very sorry, but it's a fish-eat-fish world, and I was
hungry."

Crowley blessed furiously.
"Do you know how
much trouble he'll have to go to in order to get a new body?" he
demanded. "And that's if his employers don't just decide he can
be put to better use Up There."

"Uh... no?" The
dogfish looked at the catfish, as though for help.

He got none. The catfish
simply shrugged. "Don't look at me, mate. From my point of view,
if he tears you limb from limb I get home a bit faster."

"That's a sense of
apathy and self-interest that usually I would happily encourage, but
on this occasion I would prefer to have Aziraphale back,"
Crowley's voice was a hiss, and the dogfish noted with some concern
that his eyes seemed to have actually turned red and glowed. "I
would suggest you work out how to throw him back up."

"Aziraphale!"
Crowley was a little relieved, but no less annoyed. He levelled his
spines at the dogfish. "Get him out of there."

"I keep trying to
tell you, I don't know how!" the dogfish protested.

"Much as letting you
kill him might save me some hard swimming to get home, I feel I
should probably point out that if your friend really is indigestible,
he should come out the natural way in a few days time," the
catfish commented. "It may not be pleasant, but I should think
he'll be fine."

"Nice though it is to
hear you're so concerned, Crowley, you need to calm down, dear,"
Aziraphale instructed from inside the dogfish's stomach. "I can
get out of here when I'm ready, and I think I've located our problem.
If you aren't careful with those spines, you'll have someone's eye
out."

"I don't see any
problem with that," Crowley muttered, but his spines settled
back against his body much to the dogfish's relief.

"I haven't seen one
of these in centuries," Aziraphale's voice continued. "Dear,
dear, no wonder we were having issues."

"One of what?"
Crowley demanded.

"A wishing ring - I
thought the last of these was still over in Arabia somewhere. Of
course, when things start getting wished different to the grand
design it all starts to go wrong."

Crowley glared at the
dogfish. "You ate a
wishing ring?"

"It looked shiny,"
the dogfish said uncomfortably. "I didn't think much of it at
the time."

"I tried to stop
him," the catfish offered. "But really, have you ever tried
to get a dogfish to do something it doesn't
want to? They're not the brightest of fish."

"Fine, fine, you're
both idiots - I get the idea," Crowley waved the excuses off
with a fin. "Aziraphale, hurry up and wish yourself out here so
we can wish things back to normal and go home."

"I'm not sure that
would be right," Aziraphale sounded hesitant for the first time.
"It is direct action after all, and I'm only really meant to act
through a human agent. Otherwise, it's not really very ineffable."

Crowley closed his eyes
for a moment. "Angel, do you want to stop this war or not?"

"Aziraphale, your
choices right now are wishing things back to normal which would take
all of five minutes, or trying to find a human to wish it back for
you who will inevitably bugger it all up even worse because there
isn't a human born yet who can look at a wishing ring and not
suddenly see himself drowning in wealth or impossibly handsome or
something," Crowley snapped.

"And they might
choose to use all three wishes to create the world's first purple
elephant or something. Aziraphale, I'm not sure how you haven't
worked it out by now but humans are stupid!"

There was silence for a
moment as Aziraphale considered this. "We could always try
Them..." he suggested tentatively after a moment.

"Do you really think
Adam would need a
wishing ring to get things set straight? He could with a blink if he
wanted to, but do you really want him mucking with that power? It
might get him into the habit of interfering and if that happens, both
your side and mine will take steps and it'll be all that serried
ranks of hosts business again and this time, there won't be
loopholes. Do you want that?"

"Excuse me?" the
dogfish said tentatively. "Is there any chance you two could
continue this conversation outside of my stomach? You're starting to
give me indigestion."

"Oh, I'm terribly
sorry if eating me upset you." With Aziraphale sometimes it was
difficult to tell whether he was being sincere or sarcastic.
Nevertheless, a moment later he appeared a few inches away, still in
angelfish form, clutching the ring in his mouth.

"One wish gone,"
he said looking a little worried. "I don't think
that one can backfire though. You know how
they have a tendency to."

"Not if you actually
have a brain," Crowley said sharply. "But as you've started
wishing, you might as well finish the job. The sooner it's over with,
the sooner we can leave."

"Speaking of
leaving," the catfish said. "Is there any chance you could
see your way to wishing us back home? Or wishing me home at least. He
was the one who got us here after all. I'm
just an innocent spectator in all this."

Aziraphale looked
uncomfortable. "There are only two wishes left, and I shouldn't
really even use those..."

"What happened to not
walking by on the other side, angel?" Crowley demanded. "Here,
you take two wishes, I take three, that should be enough, shouldn't
it?"

"You're tempting me
again," Aziraphale protested. "And I'm definitely sure I
shouldn't be letting you wish on it. You're a demon. You could wish
for all kinds of twisted desires."

It should not have been
possible for a fish - even a devilfish - to leer the way that Crowley
did in response to that. "Do you really think I have to wish
for twisted desires?"

Aziraphale's yellow hue
seemed to glow a little brighter for a moment. "The point is
that it would be irresponsible of me to hand over this kind of power
to a demon."

"What are you afraid
I'd wish for?" Crowley demanded. "It's hardly as though I'd
wish for something like Hell winning after all we've done to stop
that. Live a little for once, take a risk. I just want to get back to
London, and out of this form. These spines itch."

"Fish like you come
from London?" the
dogfish asked with some surprise. The catfish and dogfish had been
looking from one to the other as the argument went on, growing
increasingly confused.

"We're not fish,
we're-" Crowley started, and broke off. "Oh, there's no use
explaining it. You've only got a memory ten seconds long, you'll have
forgotten before I've even got to the end of the explanation."

"I think you'll find
that's goldfish, Crowley," Aziraphale said mildly. He turned to
their two observers. "Let's just say we're both more than what
we seem."

"I think we'd
gathered that," the catfish commented. "Look, forgive me if
I'm suggesting something terribly obvious, but if you're so worried
about what your friend their would wish, why don't you just save your
last wish until he's had his three wishes? Then you can undo anything
he's wished that would break things too much."

Aziraphale hesitated.
"That would work?"

The catfish wiggled his
tail authoritatively. "Trust me, I'm a catfish. There's no-one
who knows how wishing rings work better than us."

"I'm up for it,"
Crowley offered. "Like I said, I just want to get out of here."

"Fine, fine,"
Aziraphale conceded with a sigh. "Just for the sake of the
innocents affected then. Let me get my second wish over with first,
and then I'll pass it to you."

He focused for a moment,
gripping the ring in his mouth once more. The sea temperature dropped
several degrees. Everyone shivered.

"Did you have to wish
for that one first?" the dogfish complained.

"Well, dear bo- dear
fish, it would hardly be any use if I wished the other fish back and
they all died because the water was too warm, would it?"
Aziraphale asked. He rolled the ring over the sand to Crowley, giving
him a warning glare. "Be careful."

"Fine, fine, I'll
resist the urge to have us surrounded by naked virgins." Crowley
promised sourly. "Not that it would be much use anyway down here
unless they had scuba diving equipment on. You worry too much,
angel."

He hooked the ring easily
onto a spine, and focused for a moment. The sea around them was
suddenly a lot more crowded, fish appearing from nowhere - most of
them looking very surprised. "There, you see? Nothing to it."

"Now wish us back
please?" the catfish asked hopefully.

Another moment of deep
concentration, and both catfish and dogfish vanished away. Aziraphale
and Crowley looked at each other.

"There, you see? All
fixed, and not even one naked virgin involved."

"You've got one more
wish," Aziraphale said flatly.

"Yes," Crowley's
tone turned thoughtful. "I have, haven't I?"

He jiggled the spine a
little, feeling the ring rattle on it, and wondered for a moment just
how powerful wishing rings were anyway? It would be so simple, so
easy just to wish to
be unFallen. Just to wish for a pardon, and make it as though there
had never been that moment of hesitation, of letting himself get led
astray by bad company...

No. No, because that
choice would mean being someone else, wearing a different face,
performing a different job to the one he had been used to for so
long. No, because if he hadn't fallen, he wouldn't be Crowley.

Besides, Heaven wouldn't
have any need for two agents on earth. Wish himself back to angelic
form, and someone would have to go home.

He jiggled the ring a
moment longer, then rolled it back over the sand to Aziraphale. The
angelfish caught it, and stared at Crowley suspiciously. "Well?
What was your third wish?"

"Oh, nothing,"
Crowley lied airily. "It's not as though I needed more than
two."

"Right, right.
Nothing to put right then is there?" Aziraphale asked, looking
down at the ring.

"No," Crowley
agreed. "So you could wish for anything you
want." His voice dropped to a low
murmur. "World peace, or an end to famine, or a lifetime supply
of creamcakes, or a first edition of anything, anything at all..."

He watched as Aziraphale
gripped the ring in his mouth tightly, and pressed it firmly into the
loose sand. A few whisks of his tail and it was covered over, lost
from view.

"So, what did you
wish for?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, you know."
Aziraphale wiggled his tail in a passable attempt at a shrug. "As
you said, you only really need two wishes."

"Of course,"
Crowley agreed, not believing a word of it. Aziraphale couldn't lie
for toffee or any other type of sweet. "No need to use the third
if you don't have to."

"Come on then,"
Aziraphale turned back towards the beach quickly, before Crowley
could ask any more. "This water really is
chilly now."

Side by side, to the tune
of "Help, I'm a fish!" the
angel and devil swam back to Redcar.

***

"They're back."
War stared into the water in disbelief. It teemed with life - indeed
with more life than the North Sea was quite used to.

"That's humans for
you," Pollution said more cheerfully than was perhaps
appropriate. "I told you - turn your back on them for a moment
and they're bringing species back from the brink of extinction.
Constant job keeping up with them."

"You could get rid of
them." She turned, looking from Pollution to Famine with
desperate hope. "You - both of you! A breeding crisis among the
fish, an oil spill to wipe them out again - it doesn't have to end
here!"

The two looked at each
other awkwardly. "Well, you see there's other work to be getting
on with," Famine started uncomfortably.

"I've got a new fast
food chain to launch over in America, and while it's been very nice
being here for a little holiday, I really must be off..." Seeing
that War was about to try and argue, Famine turned quickly and
hurried away.

A few minutes later, he
heard footsteps behind him. "This fast food chain?"
Pollution asked, a little breathlessly. "Would it happen to have
boxes and wrappings made of non-recyclable materials?"

Famine looked at his
younger colleague, a slow smile beginning to blossom. "It could
have," he agreed. "I don't see any reason why it
shouldn't."

After all, while neither
of them enjoyed playing second fiddle to other personifications, a
partnership was quite a different affair.

***

"And while we of
course wish to believe our French colleagues in this matter, the fact
remains that our fish are still missing, and should they not be
returned - or at least reparations given for their theft - then
sanctions will almost certainly have-" the Prime Minister broke
off from his speech as an aide scurried forward to whisper
frantically in his ear.

A moment later, he reached
to switch his microphone off. A murmured discussion ensued with
several of his Cabinet members. The Opposition watched curiously.
This was certainly an unusual approach to take.

It was a good five minutes
before the microphone was switched back on, and gave the MPs on the
benches opposite a beaming smile made mostly of pure relief.

"I am glad to inform
my honourable colleagues that it would appear that the North Sea is
once again brimming with cod. Also with dolphins, skate, er... ray,
whitefish, goldfish... ah, quite a lot of fish in fact. That being
the case, it would appear that no sanctions are necessary, and we
apologise to our friends in France for any accusations that might
have been made." He glanced at his aide, who gave a quick nod.
"Also, it would appear that the North Sea is once again at
normal temperature, and water testing has confirmed that it is as
clean as it has ever been - uh, possibly cleaner considering the
amount of fish that appear to be enjoying it. I can therefore
reassure our friends in the North that it would seem whatever has
been occurring over the past few days, it does not seem to be a
side-effect of pollution, and they should be safe to return to work
whenever they wish."

There was a cheer from the
Labour benches, if a slightly confused one. The Prime Minister
relaxed. At least until the next crisis or Prime Minister's
Questiontime (whichever came first), his job was safe.

***

Aziraphale and Crowley
leaned against the seal wall and watched the fishermen hard at work
again, pulling struggling nets of fish into their boats. In the
distance, the ICI chimneys were once more belching smoke, a sign that
the factory workers strike had ended.

"And for that matter
I'm not even sure they like saltwater at all. And as for dolphins...
I'm almost sure they haven't been seen here before. And..." he
stopped, squinting into the distance where a spout of water could be
seen, "is that a whale over there?"

Crowley shrugged. "Guess
I should have read that encyclopaedia a bit more carefully?" he
offered. "Still, the humans seem to like it." He nodded to
a group that had bunched together on the beach, excitably taking
photos and notes. He smirked a little wondering how long it would be
before they found out about the megalodon. He imagined that a 60ft
prehistoric and supposedly extinct shark would probably make its
presence felt soon enough. It wasn't his fault he could only
remember the interesting things from the animal encyclopedia.

After all, as long as
there was a bookshop in the area, it was almost certain that
Aziraphale would find them reason to return at some point. He might
as well make sure there was enough encouragement for tourism in the
area to make it bearable next time.

***

"They just don't
understand the overall vision,"
War said, frustrated. "I can set something up for them, and they
just stand there as if they don't know what to do with it at all."

Death nodded politely.
THAT MUST BE VERY TRYING, he offered.

"It was different
when Pestilence was around, of course. I miss Pestilence. He
understood about working together. Give him a
battleground of soldiers and he'd have their feet turning green and
falling off in no time."

HE CERTAINLY LOVED HIS
WORK, Death agreed.

The pair stood together,
looking out to sea. The sky was blue, and the air was full of shouts
from the fishermen, cries from the gulls up above, and absolutely no
sounds of anyone getting shot and killed. Really, War thought, it was
most dissatisfactory.

Still, she wasn't quite
alone.

"You know, there's
been some fuss over in Africa. Just a scuffle yet, but it could turn
out to be more." She looked up, giving her old, sharp smile. "At
least, it could if I'm there. Do you want to come?"

Death smiled back, or at
least gave as much of a smile as a skull could manage. I WILL BE
THERE, OF COURSE, he agreed. YOU KNOW I ALWAYS AM.

And War laughed, confident
in the knowledge that she had at least one partner who would be there
no matter what jobs he had to do elsewhere. No matter that this one
little war had failed. There would be other wars.

As long as humans around,
there always were.

***

In Hell, administrators
were surprised and vexed to see that they had made a note to give a
certain demon a commendation "because he's a jolly good chap,
always gets his work done in good order" and a directive from
the highest authority to stay on earth for at least a few more
millennia, and had never actually got around to actioning it until
now. The turn around of the demon's standing considering his
frontline part in the debacle of the Thing No-One Was Talking About
was wildly considered in Hell's Administration Department as nothing
short of 'miraculous', but as management frequently said one
thing and then actioned something else the request was processed
post-haste.

In Heaven, administrators
discovered they had a similar memo concerning a certain angel, with
an additional note that a computer with Windows Vista to assist him
in his duties on earth might be a helpful gift. (Just because Crowley
wanted the angel to stay around didn't mean he didn't also enjoy
tormenting him. Besides, he could think of few better ways to ensure
that Aziraphale would need to call on him for help at some point).

With a synchronicity that
proved that the laws of Administration were at least as much natural
forces as gravity or entropy, both actions were duly carried out
under Jobsworth's Law, which meant that initiative was singularly
lacking in its presence. No one asked any questions, they just
rubberstamped it and moved on to the next task.

And if a
certain angel and demon looked at each other and started wondering
the next time they met, then that was just an unexpected and somewhat
happy side effect.

***

Somewhere, in the middle
of the ocean, a catfish and a dogfish looked around carefully.

"I don't remember
those coral," the catfish said after a few moments.

"Those turtles are
new," the dogfish agreed. He hesitated for a moment. "You
know, did either of us actually get around to telling him where home
was?"

"I don't think we
did," the catfish admitted slowly. "We got a little
distracted. They were such strange fish."

"Very strange fish. I
can't think what kind of sea they have in London to produce fish like
that," the dogfish said. He gave a testing wriggle and then set
off, gliding through the waves. "Well, at least the water's warm
this time. And there is food."

There was indeed food, as
much as a catfish and a dogfish could wish for, and the pair feasted
and lazed in the warm water, quite content to travel hopefully
towards home, never quite arriving.

After all, Crowley had
reasoned, someone should
get to go to Barbados even if he couldn't.

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